


Devil In My Brain

by Hawthorn_Rose



Series: Devil In My Brain [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Stockholm Syndrome, Threat of Rape, graphic description of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawthorn_Rose/pseuds/Hawthorn_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer was corruption in corporeal form - well, to Sam's mind he was. When it finally gets too much, though, Sam doesn't anticipate the gaping hole where the devil resided, nor the intensity of their reunion. But that's just life, when insanity grips your brain.</p>
<p>SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM; THIS IS INCREDIBLY GRAPHIC. THERE IS ALSO HEAVILY IMPLIED NON-CON AT THE START, and tbh in that kind of mental state, the ending is dub-con at the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil In My Brain

**Author's Note:**

> As someone with borderline schizophrenia, the Hallucifer arch has always completely fascinated me. I drew on quite a bit of personal experience for this one, and I seriously mean that trigger warning. If you think you're at risk, please go back. If you read this and have a modicum of opinion, I would be absolutely delighted to hear it. Thanks!

He clenched his hands tight enough to leave crescent-marks on his palms, hitting his head against the pillow backwards repeatedly as Lucifer sent electric shocks through his body. He ground his teeth into each other, not wanting to make a sound but not able to stop convulsing. Dean shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake. Damn you, Castiel, Sam thought, silently.

“I wonder if he was damned,” Lucifer murmured, easing on the shocks to press himself against Sam’s body, stroking his face lazily. “I wonder if he’s in hell. Wouldn’t be surprised, not really. I mean, look at what he’s done, Sammy. Wherever Castiel is –”

“He’s here,” Sam muttered, “On Earth.”

Lucifer leaned back a little, looking into his eyes. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Sammy…” Their sapphire blue glinted with malice, “I mean, maybe you did see right. Maybe he did miraculously reappear one night.” Lucifer gripped pinched his jaw, making Sam look into his eyes, “Or maybe I’d like to see my little brother popping up in your vision now and again.” He’d removed his hand from Sam’s face and was now tracing patterns across his chest, random and disorganised, trailing down his sternum, along his abdomen, hand resting on his navel. He leaned up, mouth hovering over Sam’s ear, hot breath caressing it. “Maybe,” His voice was dark and filthy, corrupted with a hoarse throat, “Maybe I’d like to watch him throw you over the bed and fuck you, hard, as I come in your mouth.” Sam made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat, trying to push away from Lucifer, whose hand was sliding beneath his belt buckle. It was no use, though, he knew whatever he did, Lucifer could get him. He’d tried every position, but whatever he did, he couldn’t escape his own mind. It was ridiculous. It was insane.

Sam closed his eyes, mentally begging it to be over, _I can’t deal with this much more,_ he thought, frantically, as Lucifer dragged his nails down the inside of Sam’s thighs, opening up the flesh, _I can’t carry on._ He’d tried the scar on his hand, but that was healing up, it didn’t even cause that much pain anymore. That’s it, he thought, throwing the cover off, Lucifer surprisingly backing away. I’m not doing this anymore. He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and a bottle of whiskey from Dean’s bag, strode into the toilet, stumbling as Lucifer gave him a little push on the back, and shut and locked the door.

“Aw, Sammy,” Lucifer laughed, “Not strong enough for me anymore?” Sam sank down, back against the door, knees pulled up, “Can’t take it?”

“Shut the hell up,” Sam muttered, unscrewing the cap on the whiskey and taking a gulp, “I’m cutting you out, you bitch.” Lucifer’s eyes lit up, he knelt behind Sam, grabbing his elbow and pouring more of the burning liquor down his throat till he choked. The devil went a bit hazy after that, kneeling behind him one minute, perched on the sink another, kneeling in front of Sam the next. They sat like that for a while, Sam drinking some of him away. But it wasn’t enough; it just made the devil sporadic. So he stood up on shaking legs and grasped the razor from the shelf above the sink, leaning over the basin and taking a deep breath to steel himself.

He put the blade against his skin and drew it across, hearing Lucifer growl in his ear. It was half-frustrated half-horny; like he wanted Sam to hurt himself but didn’t ever want to leave. He put his hand over Sam’s arm, but Sam slammed the blade down, through it and onto his own skin. It was clumsy and strange, but there was a head-rush, a sudden feeling of release, like something that was gripping him wasn’t quite so tight anymore. The blood welled up, trickling down his arm; he sliced into the skin again. This is taking control, Sam muttered to himself, fuck you, Lucifer. He carried on, the cool burn of it taking his mind off everything else, somewhere getting lost in just letting the demons trickle out of his skin.

There was a thud and the door swung open. “Sammy,” Dean muttered, groggily, “What are you--” They froze. “Sam what the fuck are you doing!” Dean strode over and grappled the razor out of his hand, staring at Sam’s arms. Sam looked down, feeling as if someone had tossed a bucket of cold water on his head.

“Dean, I – I… I thought I locked the door!” He looked over and Lucifer stood in the doorway and winked, nodded towards the lock, then disappeared. His gaze drifted back to Dean, who stared at him, horrified. “I’m sorry,” He muttered, quietly.

.*.*.*.

The two didn’t meet each other’s eye the next day, but Lucifer wasn’t there either. It was odd. At first it was peaceful; Sam could eat breakfast and not bring it back up when Dean’s eye popped out, and there were no maggots in the food, even his coffee didn’t need a shit-ton of sugar to stop it tasting like blood. It was quiet.

They got in the car and drove, and it was quiet. There was a strange hollowness. Sam drummed his fingers on his knee, dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum, “Cut it out,” Dean snapped.  
Sam obliged.

Dean put on Black Sabbath and it was still quiet. Things were kind of off that day. Like someone had drained the saturation out of the colours. Sam tried to focus on the music, at least let something fill the void in his head.

_“The gates of life have closed on you  
 _And now there's just no return  
 _You're wishing that the hands of doom  
 _Could take your mind away  
 _And you don't care if you don't see again  
 _The light of day”______

He tuned it out. _Lucifer would have loved this,_ he thought, bitterly, _sung along to every word, rubbed in their meaning during the guitar solos._

They stopped for lunch, and it was still too quiet. A good quiet. Yes. Certainly. Sam just wasn’t accustomed to it. He went into the bathroom to check his wounds, which had started bleeding a little again. He washed them and bandaged them up and they got in the car and carried on driving to the next hunt.

The day passed, and Sam lay on his back staring at the ceiling for three hours feeling misplaced before drifting off.

The next day happened.

By the third Dean started snapping at him, asking why he was so distracted, and went off to a bar in the evening, not able to stand the morbid presence of Sam’s company. Sam cracked into the bottle of whiskey again, hoping it would drown out the guilt he felt over…  
No.  
Not going there.

Sam refused to explain to himself what he was doing when he sat in Dean’s car and played Stairway to Heaven fifty times over.

He refused to explain why he sat there in silence, banging his head on the dashboard with red eyes.  
No.  
Satan was fire and heat and freezing and burning and blood and torture and colour and music and feeling.  
No.  
Satan was the enemy, he was cruel and hateful and bitter and funny and clever and  
No.  
Satan wasn’t there, didn’t exist, was-

“Hello Sam,” Whispered a low voice in his ear. Sam almost keened, leaning back, stretching to reach the Devil. “Long time no spooning.” A long spike impaled him, sticking through his torso, piercing his organs; Sam almost screamed. Why did he do this? It was bad and it was pain but he could feel. Fear and pain coursed through his system and he gasped, throwing his head back. He could feel.

“I think big brother would be worried if he couldn’t find you when he got back,” Lucifer whispered, in his corrupted voice. “I think we should make him worried.”

Sam shook his head; scaring Dean was the last thing either of them needed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, whore,” Lucifer reminded, climbing over and straddling Sam’s lap. “You will obey me,” He tangled his hands in Sam’s hair and yanked it painfully backwards, “Or I will kill you.” Without giving time for a response, he bucked his hips up and claimed Sam’s mouth with his own, hearing the boy whine against him, breath coming in short pants. “Don’t you fucking dare cut me out again,” He growled.

“I’m sorry,” Sam begged, “I won’t. Never. I – I swear!” He strained to try and reinitiate the kiss, but Lucifer held him tight in place.

“You’re mine,” The Devil growled at him, pressing again against his mouth, biting his bottom lip till he drew blood before pushing his forked tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam whimpered with desperate yeses and ‘yours’, over and over till his lips were bruised, trying to buck against his tormenter, everything erupting around him, small flames dancing across his skin wherever Lucifer touched him. His hand snaked over Sam’s torso before plunging between his legs, rubbing him till he was gasping and clawing at the devil’s back, expletives flying from his mouth until Lucifer put his other hand around his neck and cut off the air supply. Sam went limp, letting Lucifer get his way with no interruption, letting every sensation wash over him until the need for oxygen burnt at his lungs. 

“Mmmph,” Sam managed, hands coming up to his neck. For a minute Lucifer locked eyes with him, a manic grin glinting across his face as Sam fought to breathe, struggling against his grip, before he released Sam’s neck to rip the buttons off his shirt. Lucifer trailed his fingers appreciatively across the taught muscles of Sam’s torso. “Put your hands on the headrest,” He commanded, watching Sam obey him instantly. “Good whore. Now stay still while Daddy gets to work.” Lucifer put his sharp nails against Sam’s chest and pressed in till beads of blood appeared. A tiny whine escaped Sam’s lips and Lucifer slapped him for his disobedience, before carving slowly into his chest. The pain seared into him confounding every sense and thought till everything was on what Lucifer was doing. Beads of blood trickled down as the Devil leaned back to admire his work, before glancing deviously up at Sam. “Oh, Sam, look at how pretty you are now,” He taunted, leaning in. His tongue poked out and licked the wounds slowly, savouring the sweet metallic taste, watching Sam squirm beneath him as if he were pretending he didn’t enjoy it.

“You’re a whore,” Lucifer whispered, “And a masochist. You like me, you filthy sub,” His hands had drifted down now, unbuckling Sam’s belt, “Making you bleed and licking you,” Sam tried to contain a moan as Lucifer’s fingers drifted over the head of his throbbing cock, “You’d just lie down and let me fuck you, every way I could.” Sam was panting now, straining up, trying to get some friction, but Lucifer held his hips down with a bruising grip, fingers dangling, barely touching the tip. “And you want to know what I’d do if you didn’t let me?” His hand grasped Sam’s dick now, squeezing it and pumping up and down “I’d tie you up to a bed spread eagle,” Sam groaned, fireworks dancing behind his eyelids, he was so close now, “And fuck you till you screamed,” A muffled yell made its way out of Sam’s throat as he came, the world exploding behind closed eyes, liquid fire shooting through his veins.

He panted heavily, not wanting to open his eyes, half afraid to see Lucifer looking down at him like a victor, the other half afraid he wouldn’t see Lucifer at all. “I’m never going to leave you, Sammy.

Ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews much appreciated x


End file.
